


Return to Innocence

by BainAduial



Series: A Minbari Courtship [9]
Category: Babylon 5
Genre: M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 17:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BainAduial/pseuds/BainAduial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have to go back to go forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return to Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Originally part of the Song Drabble challenge on the Marcus/Neroon Yahoo Group; The song used for this segment was “Return to Innocence” by Enigma.

The mission was FUBAR. Marcus knew that even before the alarms began blaring all around him. It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out, a training mission for the latest batch of new Ranger candidates. Somehow, they never ended up being as easy or straightforward as they were supposed to be. He had no idea what had gone wrong this time, but as doors on the Raider vessel they’d infiltrated began slamming closed, he decided it didn’t matter.

“Scramble!” he ordered sharply, waiting until all of the trainees had gotten out of the control center before rigging the last of the explosives he’d brought as a just-in-case solution and following them out. The last of the blast doors slammed shut on his heels, tearing the corner of his cloak as he pulled away from it. 

The trainees had a head start on him, as he’d hoped they would. The last of them were disappearing around the corner, making for the maintenance bay they’d used to sneak aboard, their shuttle disguised as a piece of space flotsam. At least this wouldn’t be a repeat of Chad’s last mission; it looked like all the trainees would get out of this one alive. 

He wasn’t so sure about himself, though. The bulkhead in front of him was closing, too fast for him to get through. Ten years ago, he could have made it, and he cursed advancing age even as he began hunting for an alternate exit. He’d memorized the ship’s plans before the mission, and hopefully experience and guile would win out over youth and enthusiasm. Hopefully.

The maintenance shafts on these old ships were dusty and in poor repair, and Marcus cursed under his breath as he heaved himself up into the nearest one. The route to the maintenance bay was longer from here, and Marcus was cursing the Raider’s ancestry for several generations back in at least three languages by the time he reached it. Their shuttle was powered up, and he could see two of the trainees lurking in hidden spots near the entrance, obviously waiting for him. He was both proud and disappointed in them; proud, that they would risk themselves to make sure every member of the team got out. Disappointed, that they would place his life above the success of the mission. He tumbled out of the shaft as the alarms abruptly cut off, the sudden silence more ominous in its own way than the blaring alarm. Long experience had taught him that when the alarms cut off, the shit was about to really hit the fan.

“Go!” he yelled at the trainees, racing across the floor of the bay. He had miscalculated on the explosives; the first blast rocked the ship before he was more than halfway, throwing him to the floor in a pile of scrap. He was up and moving again in moment, but too slowly. The Raiders had found them. His fellow Rangers lay down what covering fire they could, but Marcus could tell it wouldn’t be enough. 

“Take off!” he shouted, in both English and Minbari, hoping one of them would listen to him. “Complete the mission!” he staggered as one of the projectile weapons the Raiders used impacted his lower back.

“Not without you!” one of the trainees still on the floor of the bay snapped back, dashing out to lend a shoulder to Marcus’ staggering efforts to reach the ship in time. They weren’t going to make it. The Raider vessel was rocking continuously from his homemade explosives; he calculated they had only seconds before it hit the propulsion system and the entire ship went up in flames. 

They’d reached the bottom of the ramp, the other Rangers surrounding them even as their deceptively decrepit ship began moving at last, when his prediction came true. There was a blast of heat and light, and he felt himself flying through the air as the world ended in fire.

***

The afterlife looked strangely familiar, Marcus thought as his eyes slowly blinked open. And those beeping monitors were an unnecessary accessory.

“He’s awake,” a voice said above his head, and a well-known face hovered into view.

“Stephen?” Marcus asked, or tried to. It came out more as a whispery croak.

“Don’t speak, Marcus,” Stephen ordered, adjusting several of the monitors. “You’ve been intubated for several days. You took the brunt of the explosion.”

Marcus blinked.

“Your trainees all came out of it relatively uninjured; a few broken bones, some burns. From what they’ve told us, you were the last one onto the ramp, and the explosion blew you into the interior of the ship or you wouldn’t have survived at all. As it is, it was touch and go for a while. We had to pick a lot of shrapnel out of a lot of burns, not to mention the damage to your lungs.”

Marcus frowned. Stephen looked far too guilty; something else was wrong. “What… else?” he croaked softly.

“One of your legs got caught in the ramp lift, and pretty much crushed.” Stephen winced. “We’ve pieced it back together, but… Marcus, if you walk again it’ll be a miracle.”

Marcus sighed, already slipping back into darkness. He knew he’d already gotten more miracles than anyone deserved in a lifetime.

“Sleep, Marcus,” Stephen said, going back to his fiddling. “Neroon will be here soon.”

***

Neroon stood outside the sterile room in Babylon 5’s medlab, perfectly still even though most of his instincts were screaming at him to move, to fight, to protect his husband from their enemies. But the enemies were, for now, all destroyed. The only thing Marcus battled was his injuries, and Neroon couldn’t help there.

The human doctor finally emerged from the room, seeming surprised to see him. “Neroon,” he greeted quietly. “I didn’t expect you quite this fast.”

Neroon shrugged. “How is he?” he asked, eyes never leaving the oddly still, somehow frail-looking form on the bed.

Stephen sighed. “Bad,” he admitted, slumping into a nearby chair with a groan. “I’m too old for this shit. HE’S too old for this shit. What was he doing out there, Neroon?”

Neroon snorted. “Would you like to be the one to tell him he is too old for field duty? That he must allow the trainees out for the first time under the eye of someone without his experience, without his qualifications? Without his deep and abiding dedication to bringing them all home, no matter what situation they find themselves in? I’ve been trying to get him to cut back for the past several years. I’ve succeeded, in small ways.” He sighed, giving in to the urge to pace slightly. “But in most things, I allow him to do more than he should. I forget sometimes how many years have passed, how old we are both getting.”

“Not that old,” Stephen chuckled wearily, rubbing his eyes with a hand. He paused as he brought it down, staring at the wrinkles that had begun appearing on the back of it. “On second thought, maybe we are getting that old. Hell, Neroon. It’s been what, twenty-five years since we all met?”

Neroon sighed, slumping a little himself. “Closer to thirty.”

“Long time,” Stephen sighed. 

“Yes,” Neroon agreed. “Will he make it through this, Doctor?” he asked, his attention returning to the other side of the treatment room window. Marcus was covered up to his neck by a medlab blanket. His hair spread over the pillows, more white than black now but still as thick as ever.

Stephen shrugged. “He’ll live. But he was badly injured, Neroon. More seriously than I want him to know until he’s a bit stronger. I had to re-grow some of his internal organs using the new cloning technology. His lower back and legs were burned badly; we had to do a complete regeneration of the skin there. It looks like he was shot before the bomb blast hit him; one of the other Rangers said they had to help him make it to the shuttle ramp. I suspect that they had to damn near carry him; the weapon he was hit with fried some of the nerves along his spinal column. His left leg was crushed in the ramp mechanism when it closed, he hit his head on the bulkheads when he was blown into the ship, he has several broken bones, including ribs and collarbone, and so many bruises I’m amazed he didn’t have serious internal bleeding.”

Neroon winced. “And?” he asked. Stephen’s tone hinted that there was more.

Stephen shrugged. “I can fix most of that, Neroon. But the spinal damage, combined with the damage to his leg, at his age… I don’t know if he’ll walk again. I won’t know for at least a few days. If he does… it’ll be with extensive physiotherapy, and probably never without a limp. And I do mean extensive; other patients I’ve seen with this kind of damage… well, they were in physio for more than a year, some of them.”

Neroon stared intently through the glass at his unconscious husband, processing the doctor’s words. “He won’t take well to being slowed down. Definitely not to being crippled. He’ll walk again, whatever it takes.” 

Stephen snorted. “That’s our Marcus. I’m sure he will.” He sighed. “I’ve done all I can for now; we just need to wait until some of the swelling goes down and he heals a bit more naturally, before we do anything more with technology. Sometimes, the best healer is still time.”

Neroon sighed. “Time. At least we will have it. How long until I may sit with him?”

Stephen shrugged. “I’d prefer you wait another couple of hours, so the regenerative spray can finish restoring his lungs. But if you go through a thorough sterilization before entering, I suppose he’s healed enough now. Just be careful, and don’t touch his legs, okay?”

Neroon nodded. “I think I can manage that. Thank you, Doctor. I’m grateful for all you’ve done for us.”

Stephen snorted. “Hey, I’m just grateful I decided to take my vacation on Babylon 5 this year.” He shook his head. “Some vacation.”

Neroon bowed to him. “Then I am doubly grateful for your presence. Now if you will excuse me, I will sit with Marcus for a time. You should get some rest; you’ve been on duty for many hours now.”

Stephen smiled, gesturing him towards the entrance to the sterilization unit. “Be my guest. I’ll just catch a nap in the office. Wake me if there’s any change.”

Neroon nodded, and moved through the sterilization process before pulling a stool up to the side of Marcus’ bed. He winced seeing the bruising, bandaging, and tubing covering nearly every inch of his husband’s body, and sent a prayer of gratitude winging towards Valen for bringing his Ranger home alive, if somewhat worse for wear. He pulled off his gauntlets, carefully taking Marcus’ least-intubated hand in between his own, and settled in for a long vigil.

***

Marcus winced as he forced his legs to move in an approximation of a slow walk, clinging tightly to parallel bars and supporting most of his weight on his arms. What weight wasn’t negated by the low-gravity field that the bars generated, that was. He winced as his left leg refused to bend, dragging roughly for a couple of inches before folding under him entirely. He held himself upright with the bars and sheer force of will, riding out the wave of pain and weakness that followed. He clenched his teeth hard to avoid screaming, both from pain and frustration.

“You’re pushing too hard,” Neroon noted.

Marcus glared at him. “How long have you been standing there?” he demanded, panting from his exertions.

“Since your workout time expired some ten minutes past,” Neroon admitted. “I know how much you wish to push yourself, and I know that the doctors are conservative in their estimates of your stamina because of your age, and so I allow you to continue longer than they wish. But you must obey your own body’s limits, mala, or you will never heal.”

Marcus snarled. “My body thinks it is older and more crippled than it is.”

Neroon shook his head, moving over to take Marcus’ arms and settle him into the wheelchair Stephen had provided, against his mala’s struggles. “Your body speaks only the truth, Marcus. It is your mind which insists on believing that you are younger and in better shape than you are.”

Marcus struggled for a final time, then accepted the support of the chair. “I’m not old, Neroon.”

Neroon chuckled. “We are both of us older than we would like to believe, Marcus. Perhaps it is time we left the saving of the universe to those whose bones do not creak during cold mornings.”

“Bah. Children. None of them have the experience we do, Neroon.”

Neroon seized the handles of the chair, pushing it towards the locker rooms of the gym before Marcus could attempt to pilot it himself. “That is no bad thing, love. They do not need the experience we have; they do not live in a universe at war with itself. The Shadows are gone; their servants have been rounded up and destroyed.”

“That does not mean the universe is safe,” Marcus countered wearily. “It never has been before. God, I wish with all my heart that the children would never be forced to endure what we have. But you and I both know they will someday be forced to, and that when that day comes, they will not have the experience or the knowledge necessary to survive!”

Neroon sighed. “As if we had that experience, or that knowledge? Marcus, you must let them stand or fall on their own, just as we did. Teach them, yes, but step back from the front lines. Do not continue to place yourself in harm’s way. Trust that those you have taught and trained will handle whatever comes up competently, and bring themselves home safely.”

Marcus shook his head. “I can’t, Neroon. Not yet. I can’t let them go out alone… can’t watch them go and worry. I’m not strong enough to do that.”

Neroon sighed. “Then at least listen to your own body when it tells you that you are pushing your recovery too hard. Please.”

Marcus finally looked him in the eye, noting the exhaustion and fear that still lined Neroon’s face, more than two months into his recovery. He sighed. “Alright. That much, I can promise you. I will try to obey my own limits.”

Neroon bowed slightly, helping him out of the chair and into the shower. “I will be here,” he promised, “for when you cannot.”

***

Six months later, Marcus’ promise was wearing more heavily on him than he’d thought it would. It had never taken him this long to recover from an injury before. 

“Except that it wasn’t just one injury this time, was it?” he asked himself sarcastically, leaning heavily on the wrist crutches he’d finally graduated to a few weeks before, when his legs had regained enough strength for him to walk – slowly, and with their support – wherever he needed to go. They’d returned to Minbar several weeks ago, when the Babylon 5 medical staff had decided that all that was left to his recovery was extensive physical therapy and time. It always came back to time.

“No, it wasn’t,” Neroon agreed, appearing out of the shadows.

“How long have you been following me?” Marcus asked, resigned. His husband had been lurking around corners ever since their return.

Neroon had the grace to look slightly abashed. “Not long. I was returning from a meeting with the Clan Elders.”

Marcus snorted. “Really.”

If Minbari could blush, Marcus thought his husband would be bright pink. As it was, his blue patches darkened slightly. “Yes, well. I also have some news.”

“News?” Marcus questioned, hitting the door release for their rooms and making his way through it.

“I’ve been in contact with Doctor Franklin,” Neroon began putting together the ingredients for dinner. “He says that as soon as you can manage with just a cane, you’ll be cleared for travel again. So I took an educated guess that you would get there sooner rather than later, and I booked us on a transport for Earth. We could both use a vacation, and I thought it might be nice to finally see the area surrounding your mother’s home village. We didn’t really take time to, the last time.”

Marcus snorted in amusement. “Last time, we were doing vastly illegal things with Psi Corp Headquarters.” He shifted himself slowly, clinging to the kitchen counters before falling gracelessly into one of the chairs Neroon had moved in to spare Marcus having to lift himself on and off the floor Minbari-style. “When do we leave?”

“Next month. Will you be ready?”

Marcus sighed, rubbing at the twitching muscles in his left thigh. He really had pushed it harder than he should have today. “I hope so.” He looked up, watching as his husband tossed whatever vegetables he was grilling into a bowl. “Thank you,” he added, somewhat belatedly.

“For?” Neroon wondered, setting the vegetables on the table beside a bowl of noodles and several small dishes of assorted sauces.

“I haven’t been the easiest man to live with the past little while,” Marcus acknowledged self-deprecatingly. “This isn’t exactly what you signed up for.”

Neroon blinked in confusion. “How so?” he asked, helping himself to the food and pushing it closer to Marcus. 

“I’m not much of a Warrior now,” Marcus clarified. “Not much of anything. I can barely stand, much less walk without some kind of support.”

Neroon spent several moments simply watching him. Marcus, long used to his husband’s habit of gathering his thoughts before speaking when he had something important to say, filled his plate and began eating. 

“You will heal, Marcus.” Neroon finally said, beginning his own meal. “You’ve come this far. I believe you will see it through. And a Warrior’s strength is not measured solely in his physical prowess, but in the calling of his heart. Yours will ever be that of a Warrior, and one that I cherish.”

Marcus shook his head slightly, and Neroon sighed, knowing that his mala didn’t truly believe him. Marcus didn’t want to believe, not yet. He wasn’t ready to face a life in which the only thing that marked him as a Warrior was his heart, because his body had failed him. But as time went on and Neroon observed his slow recovery, the Minbari became ever more convinced that sooner rather than later, Marcus would have no choice but to accept that fate. Marcus would never be cleared for field duty again, of that Neroon was certain. The only one who still believed he would be was Marcus; neither Neroon nor any of their friends were willing to shatter that belief. Some days it was the only thing that kept Marcus struggling against his injuries.

***

Marcus sighed and leaned down to dig his fingers into the muscles around his knee. The vibrations of the ship Neroon had booked them on hadn’t done him much good, although Marcus would be the first to thank his husband for sparing no expense to get them onto one of the new Vorlon-inspired liners; he couldn’t imagine what his leg would’ve been like after three days on one of the old EarthForce clunkers. Perhaps they should have waited for this trip until he was healed further.

“Marcus?” Neroon inquired softly, sticking his head into their cabin. “Are you well?”

Marcus smiled grimly. “Only stiff, love. I’ll be fine in a moment.”

Neroon snorted, and came into the cabin to take over massaging duties. Marcus groaned softly; his husband was entirely too good at finding the places where his muscles had clenched together and convincing them to let go the tension they held.

“You missed your calling,” Marcus observed after a moment, his smile more genuine. “You should have been a masseuse.”

Neroon chuckled derisively. “Perhaps I shall look into it, when we return home.” He dug his thumbs into one last knot, before kneeling back. “We’ll be landing on earth in a few hours. Will you be alright until then?”

Marcus sighed wearily, but nodded. “I’ll be fine. But I wouldn’t mind resting for a while once we get there.”

Neroon bowed his head in agreement. “Whatever you need. We do not have a set schedule.”

Marcus just nodded, relaxing into his seat as much as he was able. Now that the pain in his leg had been soothed away, the light vibration of the ship lulled him into a light doze, one he only woke out of when Neroon stood to begin gathering their things for the landing.

“Have I thanked you yet?” Marcus asked his husband softly as he levered himself to his feet, taking up the cane that had become a necessary extension of his body.

“For what?” Neroon wondered, sealing their packs and shouldering both without any trace of effort. Of course, he could lift Marcus easily; two packs mostly filled with their clothing would be no burden at all.

Marcus smiled and shook his head. “Never mind,” he replied, limping towards the door. “I’m just grateful to have you here with me.”

“I will never be anywhere else,” Neroon returned, as if it were an immutable fact of the universe. “Now come; our transport should be waiting for us once we’ve cleared customs.”

As on their last visit, Customs proved to be more afraid of Neroon than anything, even though he made this trip in what, for him, was casual attire. Marcus kept his amusement to himself, as well as just how thankful he was that it got them through the lines quickly, since he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to remain on his feet. Neroon seemed to have picked up on some of Marcus’ exhaustion, but said nothing and didn’t offer his arm, for which Marcus was grateful. 

The journey from London to Ireland was mercifully short, and soon Neroon was pulling their rented transport into a parking space outside the B&B Marcus had first stayed at in his youth, when his parents had still been alive. Marcus smiled to see the old building, climbing carefully out of the car and stretching slowly before attempting the porch stairs. The old woman who opened the door for them was familiar from every other visit, and Marcus was a bit startled to see how tiny and frail she’d gotten. Had so many years really passed?

“Welcome, welcome!” Aine smiled, her burly – sons? Grandsons? Marcus had no idea – taking their luggage from Neroon. “How was your journey? You’ve the place to yourselves; we’re between tourist seasons at the moment.” She smiled wryly. “Not that we really have a tourist season, way out here, but the students are more likely to backpack when term isn’t in.”

Marcus smiled, the accented speech reminding him irresistibly of his mother. “Indeed. Our journey was quite easy, actually. But I’m relieved it’s over.”

Her sharp eyes noted how heavily he leaned on his cane, but she didn’t mention it. “Well, your room’s prepared, and I had the boys heat up the bathhouse this morning, so you’re welcome to a good long soak. Wash the dust off, aye?” she bustled them inside, and Neroon thanked her formally as Marcus moved past him, heading right for the old-fashioned bathhouse attached to the rear of the building, near the guestroom they’d been given. A hot bath and some time in the steam room rounded like heaven.

Neroon smiled as he watched his mala disappear down the hall.

“How is he, really?” the old woman asked shrewdly. 

Neroon shrugged. “Better than he was. Better than we had any right to expect he’d be again, not that that pleases him. Better for being here, I think.”

She nodded briskly. “Well enough, then. Mairi would never forgive me if I didn’t tend her boy, so you need anything, you just ask.” She vanished into the kitchen, leaving Neroon to shake his head, bemused at this further evidence of the strange and diverse network of people who cared for his mala.

***

Marcus awoke the next morning feeling better than he had in weeks. Neroon had thoroughly massaged the knots out of his leg and back after he’d finally surfaced from the bathhouse the previous night, and Earth’s slightly lower gravity had made moving noticeably easier. Combined with the luxury of sleeping for as long as he wanted, without any commitments to the Clan, the Rangers, or his doctors, and he almost felt normal.

“I’ve brought breakfast up for you,” Neroon said from the doorway. 

Marcus’ nose twitched. Bacon, eggs, fried tomatoes and mushrooms… foods of his childhood that were all the more precious these days for their rarity. “Thank you. Where did my clothes end up?”

Neroon chuckled. “In the closet.” He vanished into the sitting room again, leaving Marcus to pry himself out of the far-too-comfortable bed. He eschewed anything that remotely resembled his uniform, pulling on a pair of loose exercise pants and a wrapped tunic before following his nose. It was late spring on Earth, and the temperatures were quite high for someone who had grown used to Minbar’s cooler climate.

“Is there anything you wish to do today?” Neroon asked, once they’d made a decent dent in the food.

Marcus nodded. “I’d like to take a walk around the village, see some of the places my mother used to talk about.” He smiled at Neroon’s not-very-well-concealed twitch. “I promise I won’t overdo it. But last time we were here, I was so focused on Talia, and we were travelling to all the tourist attractions… I didn’t really get a chance to see this place, as much as I would’ve liked. Most of my memories are still those of a child.”

“Then we will walk the village,” Neroon smiled. “What did your mother speak of?”

“Too many things to remember, or to tell you about,” Marcus grinned at him. “Her family had lived here for… you know, I don’t even know? More than six hundred years, anyway. Which is weird, for humans. Most of us move around. They were farmers; I don’t know who holds the land now.”

“We could ask our hostess when we leave,” Neroon suggested. “She seemed to know your mother.”

Marcus nodded. “They were in school together, I think. When we came here for vacation when I was little, it was at least half because Aine wanted mother as her Maid of Honour at her wedding.” He shovelled a last bite of egg into his mouth before standing, limping over to fetch his cane. “Are you ready?”

Neroon nodded, stacking the dishes neatly to return to the kitchen. “When you are.”

They found Aine in the kitchen eating her own breakfast and basking in the sun that poured through the wide windows. Marcus smiled to see the lace curtains surrounding them; he’d spent so much of his life in space, and then on Minbar, that such things looked completely foreign to him now.

“How was your meal, then?” Aine asked, face crinkling even more as she smiled.

“Excellent as always,” Marcus assured her with a smile. “You’re a wonderful cook. Thank you.”

Aine snorted derisively, sounding uncommonly similar to Neroon’s Aunt Aalann, who had lost the battle to old age six years ago. Her absence was still felt by the Clan. “Doesn’t take a wonderful cook to make up a simple breakfast. You look better this morning. It’s good to see you again, lad.”

“You as well,” Marcus agreed. “I’m hoping to see more of the village this time, since we don’t have a teenager to entertain. Do you know who holds the land my mother’s family used to farm? I’d like to see it, but I don’t want to intrude.”

Aine blinked at him for a moment. “You do,” she said finally, when the silence had stretched just slightly too long. “That land can’t be sold, Marcus. Not so long as there’s a child of the blood to hold it. That was in the original contract that gave it to your family, and it’s not changed since. It’s been left wild since your grandparents passed, bless them.”

Marcus’ eyes widened. “My mother never said anything.”

“Well she wouldn’t have, now would she?” Aine pointed out. “You were a child, and her parents were quite healthy when she passed. She probably thought your father would tell you when it came time to decide what you wanted to do with yourself, only that never happened.”

“And her will was destroyed with everything else, on Arisia…” Marcus leaned against a wall, stunned. “I had no idea.”

Aine shrugged. “I didn’t think it was my place to say, until you asked. You chose your own life, and none of that family would fault you for following your heart to strange lands. Practically a tradition, with that lot. It’s only unfortunate your mother didn’t have any siblings, or it would’ve passed to them.”

“Grandmother had a sister, though, didn’t she?” Marcus wondered. “I’m a bit fuzzy on the family tree, but I did look it up once, just to see. Shouldn’t it have gone to someone else, when I didn’t come back to claim it?”

Aine shook her head. “It can’t. Not as long as you didn’t specifically give it to anyone, and no one could ask you to do that.”

“I have never heard of a land contract like that,” Neroon interjected. “Are such things common here?”

Aine shook her head. “Never seen another like it myself. Strange folk, your mother’s family. People here abouts… well, this is an old part of Ireland, Lord Neroon. Not much changes here, including the old stories. Folk pass it off as having to do with the little people, and for all we know, it did. But that land belongs to the eldest surviving straight-line descendant, and it can’t be bought or taken away. It’s Marcus’ until he dies, whether he ever sets foot on it or not.”

“What happens then?” Marcus wondered, still trying to process everything.

“It goes to the next-closest cousin,” Aine said, “Whoever that may be. They’re all long-gone and scattered, but that land has a way of calling someone appropriate back to it when it needs to. The fact that it hasn’t means that it’s happy enough to lie fallow for a while.”

“You speak as if the land is sentient,” Neroon noted.

“There are more things in heaven and earth,” Aine shrugged. “It’s not the first time the direct line’s died out, in so many years. It’ll work itself out properly in the end, never you worry.”

“I’m sure it will,” Marcus agreed. “Well, in that case, I should very much like to show Neroon where my family is from.”

“Take some sandwiches,” Aine commanded, getting up to make them a lunch basket before either man could object. “And take your car to get out there; it’s a long hike, and we’ve had some rain. I won’t vouch for the roads, but your family’s place is up in the hills and should be dry enough.”

They thanked her and left, Marcus lost in thought and Neroon respecting his silence, thought Marcus could feel the curious glances his husband couldn’t help sending his way.

***

The farmland was much the same as Marcus remembered it, from the one day he’d spent there as a child. More overgrown, obviously, but it was hilly land, good for potatoes and carrots and herbs more than wheat. His grandparents had kept sheep and cows as well, but those were long gone, probably sold to neighbouring farms. One section of hillside had been left to its own devices, and housed a small forest of indeterminate age. 

They stopped at the edge of the small forest for lunch, after a morning spent lazily wandering the faded paths that marked the hills. Marcus’ leg was still cooperating, a miracle for which they both gave silent thanks. The recent rains made the land sparkle, a vibrant emerald-green that the island was known for in song and story. Marcus sighed, taking a deep breath of clean air.

“What are you thinking?” Neroon wondered.

Marcus leaned back, watching clouds scud lazily overhead. “That in another life, I could have been very happy here. That earth smells different than Minbar. That the sun is warm, and the air is clean, and I feel well, and my husband is beside me.”

“We could stay here, if you wished it,” Neroon offered quietly.

Marcus stared at him for a long moment. “No,” he finally said, “we couldn’t. I love you for offering, but the two of us… our hearts and our duties are both on Minbar, and I wouldn’t change that for anything in the universe.” He sighed. “I wish my mother could have come here again before she died. She loved this place.”

Neroon was silent for a moment. “Would coming here after her death be an acceptable alternative?” he asked, drawing Marcus’ treasure box out of the bag he’d been carrying.

Marcus stared at him, speechless. “Sometimes, love,” he managed once he’d found his voice, “You astonish me. How did you ever think to bring that with us?”

Neroon shrugged. “You said once that you would have liked to bury your parents on their homeworld, but that there was never time to come back here after Arisia was destroyed. And none of us were thinking of it on our last visit.”

Marcus took the box and opened it reverently. The small urn with his parent’s ashes nestled inside, their wedding rings attached by a length of ribbon. It shared the space with Will’s Ranger pin, several photographs, and some items Neroon had never asked about. He knew all too well that his mala’s past was a minefield through which it was best to tread carefully.

“This is…” Marcus was speechless again, a condition Neroon was decidedly unfamiliar with. The human Ranger normally never lacked for a subject to expound upon. “Thank you,” he finally settled on. “Again.”

“You do not need to thank me, Marcus,” Neroon pointed out gently. “Not for this, or anything else. You are my mala.”

Marcus kissed him gently, then levered himself to his feet. “Come with me,” he commanded, leading the way further into the woods.

Neroon followed curiously, keeping a careful eye on Marcus as the ground grew steeper. Eventually they seemed to reach their destination, a sunny meadow about halfway up the hill. The view was spectacular, and Neroon couldn’t help but fall a little bit in love with this part of his mala’s homeland as the sun broke out from behind a cloud and lit the green land wonderfully.

“All of my ancestors are laid to rest here,” Marcus murmured softly, kneeling as well as he could to brush moss away from what Neroon had taken to be randomly scattered boulders. Seeing the writing on them, he knew how wrong that assumption had been.

“For how long?” Neroon wondered.

Marcus chuckled. “Who knows? Secrets upon secrets, that’s my mother’s family. Generations, anyway. I don’t have a stone for them, but… will you help me?” he asked, looking up at his husband.

Neroon nodded. “It would be my honour,” he answered. “Where shall they rest?”

Marcus looked around the clearing carefully, before pointing at a small bush, hiding off to one side and almost obscured by the foliage surrounding it. “There. Under that rosebush. It’s a fitting memorial for them, I think.”

Neroon nodded, and moved to obey.

The ground beneath the rosebush at the edge of the clearing was soft with recent rains, and Neroon worried about the urn being washed away before Marcus pointed out how the roots of several nearby plants came together to support it. They excavated a small hollow and laid the urn within, Marcus pausing at the last moment to lay down his brother’s Isil’zha as well. 

“Are you sure?” Neroon asked, preparing to cover them over.

Marcus nodded. “Will loved earth more than anywhere he’d ever been. This is where he should be.” He tangled his fingers with Neroon’s, their joined hands smoothing the earth back into place. Marcus plucked a few early flowers from nearby to lay atop the mound, then sat silent for a while. Whether in meditation or prayer, Neroon did not know.

Neroon, watching him, was struck as he hadn’t been in years by the differences between their cultures. Minbari did not keep their dead this way; they were burned and scattered, to return to the Universe and be reborn. 

“Marcus?” he asked gently, “When the time comes -”

Marcus looked at him, easily guessing the direction of his thoughts. “Do I wish to return here?” He paused a moment. “No. No, this is not my place. I chose a different end when I married you, and I don’t wish to change that. We’ve never talked about what would happen when either of us died. Odd, that, given our professions.”

Neroon shrugged. “We came through so many things without serious damage; it was easy to believe we always would.”

Marcus examined his face closely. “I scared you this time, didn’t I?” he realized.

Neroon bowed his head in acknowledgement. “There were days, right after they got you to Babylon 5, when we did not know if you would ever wake up. Longer days when we did not know if you would be whole once you did. For the first time, I thought I might truly lose you, and I was not ready for that.”

Marcus shifted his seat so he could lean against the Minbari’s greater bulk, sighing softly as Neroon took his weight. “I’m alright, you know. Really.”

“You almost were not, and I cannot forget that. Marcus, you are more than sixty years old. However much you wish otherwise, your reaction time is not what it was when we first met. I have enjoyed almost thirty years with you by my side, making my life brighter, my step stronger, and my heart lighter. Occasionally causing me to doubt my sanity, as well. I wish for at least that many years more with you.”

Marcus leaned up to kiss him softly, humbled and a little awed as he always was on the rare occasions when his Warrior husband spoke so eloquently of what he felt. “Neroon, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll give up field duty. Please. Marcus, do not be afraid to admit to natural weaknesses. It is a foolish Warrior indeed who ignores the limits of his body, especially one that has been through as much as yours has.”

Marcus shook his head. “It’s not fear, love. It’s pride. I’ve always been proud of my skills as a soldier, as a Ranger, as a Warrior. They’ve defined me for so long… what do I do, without them? My leg is as good now as it is ever likely to be. What do I do, if I cannot fight?”

Neroon smiled. That, at least, he could answer. “You teach,” he told his mala, hugging him close. “You teach, Marcus. There is a position waiting for you in Tuzan’oore, as there has always been. And there is always demand on the estate, for such a large variety of classes. You are a magnificent fighter, and I will never forget meeting you in battle. But you are so much more, Marcus. The heart of a Warrior, the soul of a Seeker, remember?”

Marcus smiled. “I remember something of the kind from our courtship, yes. Alright, Neroon. You and Stephen win; I’ll resign from field duty as soon as we get home.”

Neroon smiled, feeling as though the weight of Minbar had lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you,” he breathed, easier in spirit than he had been in many weeks.

“You’re welcome,” Marcus answered, his face lit by the mischievous grin Neroon hadn’t seen in months. “Now, let me show you what else I remember from our courtship, husband mine.”

Neroon was only too happy to be tackled back into the fragrant grass.


End file.
